Jealousy
by r4ven3
Summary: A companion piece to "Jealous", my last fic, a one-shot. Set 7 weeks after Harry proposed in S.9. Ruth is upset that Harry is to engage in a mission which she sees as not only foolish, but dangerous. 5 chapters, AU.
1. Chapter 1

Head down, hand clasping her bag close to her for protection, Ruth walked briskly and purposefully across the Grid to the sliding doors. She walked past Harry's office without so much as a quick glance inside. She had almost made it out of her workplace when a familiar soft voice spoke from close behind her shoulder.

"Ruth? A minute in my office, please."

Her quick glance up with her eyes told him that what he'd suspected was, in fact, true. Someone had told her, and after he'd talked to her, he would hunt down that someone and send them to the far reaches of the globe for a very long time.

"I can't now, Harry," she said, turning from him.

As much as he hadn't wanted her to be hurt, she appeared to be as hurt as he's ever seen her. "_Now_, Ruth," he said quietly, resisting the urge to grasp her arm so that she wouldn't run from him. "This won't take long."

Ruth stopped, turned, sighed heavily, and with her head still down, eyes on the floor, she followed him into his office. Harry pulled the door closed behind them, and then closed the blinds. Turning back to her, he noticed her eyes widen. "Just a precaution," he said, almost to himself. "I don't want that lot prying."

Harry moved to his desk, and sat on the edge of it, his hands resting either side of him, his fingers curved around the edge of the desktop. Ruth stood just inside the doorway, holding her bag across the front of her body.

"I take it the rumours are true, then," she said, looking up at him darkly through her eyelashes.

"It depends on which rumours you're talking about, Ruth. The rumour mill in this place is cranked up to overdrive at the best of times."

"Everyone's talking about it."

"Talking about what, Ruth?"

"You know."

"I think I do, which is why I've brought you in here to discuss it. I don't want you going off half-cocked about something which is based on nothing more than Grid-based gossip."

"It's made it to water cooler talk. Dimitri finds it funny. I don't like that, Harry, and that's why I'm going home early. I can't stand the way they're all laughing, and -"

"And what?"

She could not look at him. The subject matter at hand was far too embarrassing. "They're saying that a man of your ….. years …... will not be able to ….. er ... perform …... and on top of that, they're feeling sorry for me," she added quietly.

"Ah. For that, I'm very, very sorry."

"It's not your fault, Harry."

"Whose fault do you think it is?"

"If Dimitri's information is correct, then the person responsible for this is the Home Secretary."

Harry watched her carefully, and nodded slowly.

"I imagine nothing I could say would make this better for you, then."

Ruth drew a deep breath, and for the first time since they'd entered his office, she looked Harry right in the eye. "What would make this better would be for you to tell me it's not true."

Harry watched her, perhaps waiting for her to say more. "I can't tell you that."

"So …... what Dimitri says is true. You met this woman at …... where was it ….. the Israeli Embassy …... she asked you out …... and next thing we know you're going to be …..."

"Ruth, my connection with this woman is work-related only. I have absolutely no personal relationship with her. She asked me out for a drink, and I immediately declined."

"What excuse did you give her?"

"When I said no to her?"

"Yes. Most people, when they turn someone down, say something like, `I'm busy', or `I have choir practice', or `I'm washing my hair'... just to let them down gradually, but to give the impression they're not interested without saying outright, `I'm not interested in you, and nor will I be if you ask me a thousand times.' What was your excuse for saying no, Harry?"

"Do you _really_ want to know?"

"I know it's none of my business, but …..."

Ruth could see the embarrassment on Harry's face, and wished she could retract her question, but ….. she _was_ curious.

"I told her I was with someone," he said, so quietly she'd almost missed it.

"Why did you say that?"

"Because I am, Ruth. I'm with you. It's just that you're not with me."

"I'm not so sure about that," she replied, equally as quietly.

The air in Harry's office fairly zinged with electricity. Neither moved. He sat on the edge of his desk, and she still stood just inside the door, her bag clasped against her stomach. Their chests heaved with unspoken emotion, while their eyes never left the other.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and the door slid back, and Tariq stepped through, holding a folder, his face excited. "Sorry," he said, noticing the tension in the air.

"Not now, Tariq!" Harry almost shouted.

"But, Harry, you asked me to tell you -"

"Not now!" Harry moved rather quickly towards Tariq, brushing Ruth's shoulder as he passed her. "Out!" he said, closing the door behind Tariq's retreating back, and turning the key with a definitive twist of his wrist. When he turned towards Ruth, he was standing only a breath away from her, behind her right shoulder. He thought of reaching out and resting his hand on her back. He thought of leaning forward and kissing her neck. He thought of putting both arms around her waist and pulling her against him. He thought of slipping her hand in his, and taking her home with him. He did none of those things.

After a time, Ruth turned a little so that she was facing him. Finding herself so close to him, she took a step back. "What I meant is," she began to explain, "I may have made some poor choices in -"

"Don't," Harry said, looking at her with what could only be described as longing. "Don't say anything yet. There will be time for this conversation later. This other thing needs to be dealt with first. I need to do it. I've said I would, so I will."

"So, you don't want to do it?"

"God, no."

"Why did you say you would?"

"The way Towers described it made it sound easy. In reality, it probably won't be."

"Will you have to sleep with her?"

"I hope not, but …... I may have to have sex with her."

Ruth suddenly looked away, focusing her eyes on one of the odd looking sculptures on the shelf against the red wall of Harry's office. She felt tears at the back of her throat, and she swallowed hard to keep them down.

He reached out a hand towards her, but didn't touch her, for which she was relieved. Had he touched her, she would have fallen into him and cried. "Ruth, I can't guarantee that I won't be having sex with her, and if I do, it won't be because I want to. I'm sorry, I'm very sorry."

"I have no claim on you, Harry, and I certainly have no claim at all on who you have sex with. It's none of my business." She made to move past him and head towards the door when he stood in front of her, his hands lightly grasping her upper arms.

"You are the only one whose opinion matters to me, Ruth. As much as I regret it, I agreed to do this two weeks ago, when Cynthia Worthington asked me for a drink, and Towers overheard it. He says I should be able to get the information from her in one night, and I'm hoping that means I won't have to …... you know."

Ruth could feel her eyes filling with tears, and she looked up into Harry's sad face. "Surely there are easier ways to extract the information."

"Like torture, you mean?"

"Of course not. I mean, why not plant a microphone on her?"

"The French did that, and she found the device within the first hour. I think she's as guilty as hell, but we need the names of her contacts in Britain."

Ruth sighed, and as her body sagged, Harry very slowly drew her towards him, and held her against his chest. "I'll drive you home if you like," he said into her hair.

Suddenly, Ruth pulled out of his embrace, and adjusted her coat. "No, I'm fine. Besides, I need to think about this."

"Well, don't think too much. It's not that important."

"It's important to me, Harry. You are acting as a honey trap to this woman, and that worries me, both personally and professionally."

"I don't think I'm in any danger, Ruth."

"This woman deals in arms, so of course you're in danger, and I won't sleep properly until this stupid operation is over."


	2. Chapter 2

Next day, Ruth decided that she'd best get informed.

"Dimitri," she said, "can you come into the meeting room with me?"

Once inside the meeting room, Ruth closed the door behind them.

"Tell me everything about Harry's little assignment, only this time, spare me the smutty remarks."

"What do you want to know that you can't find out by hacking into the Israeli Embassy's system?"

Dimitri, sensing that Ruth was serious, and not about to put up with any kind of adolescent shenanigans, stepped back and sat on the table. For a brief moment, Ruth was reminded of her conversation in Harry's office the day before. "Okay, here's the deal," he began, his face serious. "Cynthia Worthington is 49 years old, and works for a number of internationally based organisations, but her most destructive involvement is with the Jewish Arab Military Alliance, who have been siphoning weapons out of this country for use in the Middle East. Most of these weapons are ending up in the Gaza Strip. She has a contact, or contacts in the UK, and we need their names. That's about it, really."

"Why would she do it?"

"Do what?"

"Why would she be running weapons? It's hardly normal activity for a middle-aged woman. Why doesn't she join a nice book club?"

"Money – pure and simple. She's greedy for the dosh."

"So, how will Harry wining and dining this woman, perhaps having sex with her help get that information? Isn't that a trifle …... cold war?"

"Yeah, I think it's stupid, but the Home Secretary has tried everything short of bringing her in and applying the thumb screws. Even Six have put traces on her, taps on her phones, and to date nothing has worked. Harry went to the Israeli Embassy reception two weeks ago as Brian Dawes, retired military man, but with an interest in modern weaponry. His brief was to find out who are this woman's connections in the UK. It was Towers who came up with the brilliant idea that Harry take her out."

"Harry's not happy about it at all," Ruth said, keeping her emotions in check.

"No, and I imagine you're not crazy about it, either. I'd hate it were my girlfriend – if I had one – to do something like this."

Rather than argue the state of her relationship with Harry, Ruth chose to ignore his comments.

"Do you think he might be in any danger?" Ruth asked.

"He shouldn't be, not unless she's surrounded by minders, which she's not as far as we know. My suggestion to him was that he make sure he wears a condom." Dimitri looked up to see the shock and hurt on Ruth's face. "Gee, sorry, Ruth. That was stupid of me."

"Yes, it was. Anything else?"

Dimitri looked even more uncomfortable for a moment before he spoke. "There is one other thing you should know. Harry will be wearing a tracker under the collar of his shirt, and a microphone in his ear. We'll be able to hear everything which goes on, although he'll not be able to hear us. My suggestion is -"

"I don't want to listen in to any of the sound feeds."

"I was about to suggest that," he said quickly.

* * *

Ruth had planned to leave the Grid at 5 o'clock. She had a 3-day seminar in Cheltenham, during which she would be giving a talk on the use of ancient languages in intelligence analysis, plus she'll be running smaller group discussions each afternoon. She would be busy, and she wanted to take an early evening train in order to settle into her hotel room, and prepare for the next day. The timing of the seminar was perfect, meaning that she would be out of London during the time Harry was conducting his `operation'. The last thing she needed was to see Harry turning up to the Grid the morning after he'd had sex with another woman. Of course, she also recognised that her jealousy was making her irrational. This tight, anxious, panicked feeling she had was new for her, but she recognised it as jealousy. It was the kind of jealousy which had her sitting at her desk and working, while a considerable part of her brain function was occupied in devising dark and painful punishments for this woman who had had the audacity to ask Harry out for a drink. The only bright light in this dark room of her thoughts was that Harry had turned down this woman's invitation, citing he was `with someone'. Such a quaint way of saying his heart belonged to another. And he'd told her that his heart belonged with her. She wasn't sure how she really felt about that. Her body, her heart was singing, while her head could only see this ending very, very badly.

It was 5.35 by the time Ruth gathered her things and headed past the door to Harry's office. She took a quick look inside, and saw him glance up. She hesitated outside his door, knowing this was a bad idea. She wanted to head off to Cheltenham feeling annoyed with Harry. She hadn't wanted her mind to be changed, or her heart to be touched, by any close contact with him.

"Ruth?" He was at the door, inviting her in. "You're leaving already? Do you have a minute or two?"

She ducked past him, and sat in the chair opposite his own, while he again sat on the edge of his desk.

"I have that seminar at GCHQ over the next three days, Harry."

"Oh, right. I'd forgotten. That's probably for the best, then." He looked at her, his meaning clear. He did not want her nearby when he was `seeing' Cynthia Worthington. "Hopefully, this other thing will be done and dusted by the time you get back."

"I'm hoping it will be." Ruth looked down at her hands, where she was fidgeting with the strap of her bag. "I needed to ask you something first. It's a bit ….. odd and …... and personal."

"Fire away."

"Had I ….. back when you asked me to marry you …... had I said yes, then would you still have done this honey trap thing?"

"I've been asking myself the same thing, and I don't know. I'd like to think Towers wouldn't have asked me in the first place."

"So …... you …... think about us …... about us being together?"

"Of course I do, Ruth. Some days it's the only thing that keeps me sane. Don't you?"

Ruth felt herself blush all shades of red – cherry, rouge, cerise, crimson – as she remembered where her thoughts of Harry often took her.

"So, you do," he said, the hint of a smile around his mouth.

They shared another moment, one in which no words were spoken, and nor were any necessary. She could feel him looking at her, and yet she couldn't quite lift her eyes to meet his. When at last she did, his eyes had left her, and he was nervously adjusting his tie.

"I'm meeting Cynthia Worthington for drinks tonight after work," he said matter-of-factly. "I'll be wearing a tracking device in my shirt collar, and a comms device in my ear. It's very small, and so won't be detected by anyone, even someone who gets quite …... close to me."

"Just be careful, Harry. She sounds dangerous to me." Ruth stood, ready to leave. As much as she was curious, she didn't want to hear any more about Harry's assignation with this woman. It was bad enough that he was going ahead with it. She didn't want to think about it any more. She didn't want images of it to invade her imagination, that private place where she created her own images, images of she and Harry doing all manner of delightful things together.

"Just one thing," Harry said, standing to accompany her to the door. "Do you mind …. is it okay if I …... if I ring you while you're in Cheltenham? I'll need to hear your voice. It will …... help me …... maintain perspective."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Harry. I'm trying to …..."

"I know you're trying to distance yourself from this, and I can't blame you for that. If it were you doing what I'm about to do, I'd be beside myself with worry and …. and jealousy."

As he said those words, he stood close to her, about to open the door. Ruth looked up into his face to see something she hadn't expected to see. His face, usually so controlled, so impassive, was open with love for her. Every cell in her body buzzed with the knowledge that Harry loved her, and her body never lied.

With her free hand, she held his jaw, and reached up to kiss his lips, softly and gently. He responded with similar softness, one hand lightly resting on her shoulder. She felt his thumb slowly circling a small patch above her collar bone, as he drew her closer, their chests almost touching. Neither wanted the kiss to end, but it did, it had to, the time for this was not now. It was too soon for this to be happening, so they drew apart, and that moment of unimaginable sweetness quickly passed. She looked into his eyes as she moved to walk past him through the door, and from them blazed his love for her. They each carried with them the memory of that kiss, and although only a brief moment in time, it was one they would each savour, and deeply mine, in the days ahead.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Parts of this chapter may be borderline M rated, with some strong language and adult themes. (But I'm reluctant to change the rating of the story.)**_

_**Thanks to all who have read this, and to those who have reviewed so far.**_

* * *

As much as she was stimulated by the discussion going on around her, she just wanted to get back to her hotel room and lie on her bed and empty her mind. Ruth _needed_ to empty her mind. She believed that being busy in this way, as well as away from London, her conscious mind would be free from Harry's assignment. The only time when she had not been obsessing about it was while she was giving her lecture. That meant that in the past ten hours, since her eyes had opened in the morning, only forty-five minutes of her time had been free from thinking about Harry, and what he might have had to do with that woman after drinks the night before.

She ended the discussion while it was still in progress, citing time limitations, and a need to be elsewhere. She left the building, her head down, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone else who would tell her how informative and stimulating her lecture had been. For once, the approval of others was not high on her list of needs. She hailed a taxi, and gave the driver the address of her hotel. Once in the privacy of her hotel room, she was about to strip and stand under the shower for a long time when her mobile phone rang. Seeing the name on the display, and acknowledging her need for a shower, she almost declined the call. As usual, curiosity won.

"Harry?" she said.

"I hope you don't mind me ringing you. I know you said you'd rather I didn't. I just needed to ….. How did your day go?"

"It was good. My lecture seemed well received, and the discussions were lively. That's all good, of course, but my mind wasn't exactly …... on the task."

"I'm sorry about that. I thought I'd tell you how last night panned out."

"Harry, you don't need to …."

"But I do. Have you been thinking about it at all?"

Ruth hesitated, not sure how honest she wanted to be with him, but then she remembered their kiss in his office, and she knew that the thing she owed him most was her honesty. "I've thought of little else," she said quietly.

"It wasn't terribly exciting. We had drinks at Jasper's. It was pleasant enough. I got the sense she was sussing me out."

Cynthia had seemed overly interested in Harry's marital status. He'd not expected her to care. Someone in her line of work, and who would be prepared to do almost anything for money, did not normally possess any kind of moral conscience, and he knew that this was what bothered Ruth far more than the likelihood of him sleeping with her.

"What's the name of this woman in your life?"

"Rosalie," he'd said without hesitation.

"Do you love her?"

"Yes. Very much."

"So why are you here with me?"

"To keep our relationship – er – alive, we each occasionally stray – just briefly, mind you – to remind ourselves of how much we value what we have." Harry felt there was an element of truth to everything he said. He still viewed George as Ruth having `strayed'. He could have said he was with someone but had never been faithful to her, but that would not flow from his lips in a way which would be believed. He was a different man to the one who had gone home to Jane smelling of some other woman's perfume, and then blithely lying to her about where he'd been and with whom.

A little under two hours after he'd ordered their first drink, she'd received a phone call, and had to leave. As she left the bar, he rang the driver of the car sent to follow her, and asked that they find out where she is going, and who she is meeting. Despite following her for fifteen minutes, the driver lost her, and Tariq had been unable to trace the call she'd received, having come from a blocked pay-as-you-go phone.

"She rang me at midnight," Harry continued, "asking me to dinner at her apartment tonight."

"Oh," was all Ruth was able to say. Her jealousy aside, she was afraid for Harry's safety. Her gut was churning in the way it did when she felt danger imminent. "You have to be careful, Harry. I have a bad feeling about this."

"I will be careful, Ruth. I'll ring you tomorrow to let you know I'm alright."

"Thank you. I'd like that. Goodbye Harry."

* * *

Cynthia's apartment was devoid of any signs of her having a personal life. There were no photos anywhere, no articles of clothing slung over the backs of chairs, no shoes lying under couches, no keys left carelessly in an ashtray, and not even an ashtray. It was clear to him that she used this for overnight stays when in London, and little else. He watched as she poured him a drink, taking in the details, and then he didn't take a sip of his drink until she had sipped her own. When she announced dinner was ready, he asked to be directed to the bathroom. He hadn't known what he expected to find in there, but there was nothing more than a packet of paracetamol in the bathroom cabinet, so he flushed the toilet, and then washed his hands and dried them on the towel provided. As he left the bathroom, he quickly and quietly checked the two doors leading off the corridor. One appeared to be the door to her bedroom, while behind the other door he was sure he'd heard movement. He stood quietly just outside the door, and heard nothing more, but in that moment, he made a decision that he should hurry the night along.

Back in the dining room, Cynthia was sipping her drink, and as he entered the room, she looked at him through narrowed eyes. "Are you ready for your entrée?" she asked, meaningfully.

Harry, deciding it was time he bit the bullet, strode across to her, took her glass from her hand and put it on the table, and then took her in his arms. With one hand on her buttocks, and the other at the back of her head, he leaned into her and placed his mouth on hers. Her body was quite bony and angular, with none of the softness of Ruth's curves. Her kiss was not soft and gentle and cautious like Ruth's kiss, and her lips were hard against his. She snaked her tongue deeply into his mouth, and he resisted an urge to gag. His 30-year-old self would have enjoyed this immensely, while his 56-year-old self felt only repulsion. Despite their kiss deepening, and him uttering a fake moan so that she'd believe he was into her, he knew his body would never react to this woman.

Therein lay his miscalculation. Harry loved women. He had always loved women. And as far as he knew, he could respond to any woman, given the right circumstances. He was in a luxurious apartment with a – some would say – beautiful and desirable woman, who was eager and available, he had had a drink, and there was more where that came from. He should have been experiencing the heat and surging of a man who wanted her in every way, but his body was doing nothing at all. Niks. Niets. Nĭsta. Niente. Nada. He couldn't understand it. That had never happened to him before. All he had to do was think of Ruth, and …... He thought of Ruth. He imagined it was Ruth he was kissing …... but his body wasn't buying it. He should have known that the distaste he was experiencing kissing the thin-lipped Cynthia would be communicated to the rest of his body.

He pulled her slowly towards the wall, thinking that his body might respond to the idea of him having her against the wall. Still nothing. He felt her hand snake down his trousers to his groin. She grasped him through two layers of material, and began a slow massage. Her fingers were bony, and her massage was not gentle. He tried to imagine her hand was Ruth's, but it didn't work for him. Ruth would never be so inappropriate, or that rough with her hands. There was movement, but not a lot, not enough.

She pulled away from him in a jerking motion. "Who the fuck are you?" she snarled. "You obviously don't want my body, so what is it you _do_ want?"

"I'm sorry, Cynthia. This was perhaps a really bad idea. I'm missing Rosalie," he added, hoping to add that touch of authenticity. In that moment, when she'd pulled away from him, he knew that he'd failed, and that aside from knocking her out and capturing her, he had no options left. And he was tired, and bored with this stupid cold war spy game, and he wanted to see Ruth, because he'd missed her while she was in Cheltenham. "I won't stay for dinner."

"All men fancy me," Cynthia said, her face angry, "and even gay men have been known to lust after me."

Harry resisted a laugh, because he found the idea of gay men fancying her quite absurd. Right now, in the aftermath of their long and reptilian kiss, he fancied a Cornish fisherman more than he fancied Cynthia.

That was when he made another fundamental mistake. He turned from her, and took his eyes from her. He heard a movement behind him, and just as he was about to turn back to see what it was, he felt a sharp pain on the back of his head, and his world went black.

* * *

_**A/N: Sorry to all who were waiting to see how Ruth would handle Harry having sex with Cynthia. When I began writing this, my intention had been for that to happen... but, like Harry, I just couldn't do it. In truth, I couldn't do it to Ruth.**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Another borderline M rated chapter, so be warned.**_

* * *

"Woah," said Tariq. "That sounds bad, and now Harry's not talking. I told him to keep talking …... like he did when he went into the bathroom. I think something might be wrong."

From behind him, Beth rang Dimitri, who was sitting in a car just down the street from Cynthia's apartment. "You need to get into that apartment and check on Harry," Beth said to Dimitri over the phone, "and the other car needs to follow the woman when she leaves, because she _will_ be leaving."

Tariq spoke to Beth, "I can't believe Harry's so crap at this," he said. "I thought he was a hot shot spy."

"I think he has distractions these days, Tariq," Dimitri said quietly, hearing Tariq's comment, his breathing the only sign that he was moving fast between the bushes at the front of the apartment block.

"I don't know what you mean, Dimitri," Tariq replied.

"Ruth."

"What about her?"

"Oh, never mind," Dimitri said, before he climbed the stairs three at a time, his long legs taking him up the stairwell at speed.

The next thing Tariq heard was Dimitri saying, "Oh, Christ. Harry's gone, but his clothes are still here, and there's blood, with blood stains on the collar of his shirt and his jacket. That spells head injury to me. Judging by the clothes here, he's still wearing his shorts. That's a relief, but we need to find him, and fast. Tariq, can you hear anything through Harry's comms?" _Next time, _Dimitri thinks to himself,_ that is, if there ever is a next time, we'll have to sew a tracking device into Harry's underwear._

"I can hear something, but it's muffled. Wait a minute, that sounds like Harry, but he's groaning."

"Keep listening. His shirt is here in the apartment, which would be the reason they removed his clothes."

"They?"

"That woman might be tough, but she can't get him out of the apartment and into a vehicle on her own. We need CCTV, Tariq."

"I'm on to it as you speak."

* * *

"I have the CCTV footage, and a grey van left the underground carpark of that apartment block around four minutes after Harry was knocked out, and it headed north. I've also checked the buildings used by the Jewish Arab Military Alliance, but none are in London, or even nearby. However …... Honeywell have a warehouse in London which they haven't used in a few years, not since the neighbouring industries kicked up a fuss about weapons being stored close to their own warehouses. It's still owned by Honeywell, and Cynthia Worthington has done business on Honeywell's behalf as recently as last month."

"Good one, Tariq. Send CO19 out to the address, and keep listening. Anything more from Harry's comms?"

"Yeah, but it's not good. I can only just hear the conversation in the background, but I think they're about to hurt him."

* * *

Harry was barely conscious, but he was conscious enough to feel the thudding pain at the back of his skull. He tried opening his eyes, but found he was blindfolded. Between the regular thumping in his skull, he was able to detect that he was lying on cold cement, and all he was wearing were his trunks. He could smell motor oil and a strong metallic odour. There was a railway siding nearby. "Railway line nearby," he said, hoping the comms device was still in his ear.

"Shutup," a male voice said, close to his head, and he felt a heavy hand smack him across the face.

"Don't hurt his face," he heard Cynthia say. "I need him pretty. I haven't nearly finished with him yet."

Harry then felt a hand on his body, as he felt his trunks being pulled down roughly, and then he felt a hand, Cynthia's thin-fingered, bony hand, grasp him and begin to masturbate him. "Now I know why you were keeping that to yourself and …. _Rosalie_," she said, as he felt himself respond to her skilled hands. However, he was in pain, and there was only so much response his body could manage. "Damn," he heard her say. "Not enough." It was then that Harry realised she was preparing to rape him. The rape of a man by a woman was something he'd come across only rarely in the security services. Normally, it was the female partners of operatives who were raped and perhaps killed, which was why he was worried about Ruth, should they find out who he really is, and somehow connect her to him. "Useless bastard," Cynthia spat out, her face close to his, "can't get it up..." Harry then felt a pointed shoe – probably hers – kick him roughly in his scrotum, and then a much heavier shoe kicked him in his ribs, and then the side of his head, and he passed out.

* * *

"This is bad," Tariq said over the comms to Dimitri. "I think they might have hurt him badly this time. He's unconscious again, or perhaps he's even -."

"How far away are CO19 from the warehouse?"

"Four minutes."

* * *

"What was that?" Cynthia asked the man who had kicked Harry in his ribs and head.

"The trains are shunting. They do it all the time at this time of night."

"No, it sounded like a shot. Go and -" and she was unable to finish her sentence, as a shot rang out, felling her companion, and another shot took her in the leg. She dropped to the concrete like a stone, a loud `Oh, fuck' leaving her lips just before her legs crumpled beneath her.

Cynthia Worthington was handed over to Six for interrogation, the DG considering that the operatives at Five may decide to treat her less than fairly. Her hospital room was put under 24 hour watch, and when she was well enough, she was interrogated by Six. Being reluctant to share what she knew, she was locked in a cell, and left there until she was prepared to talk. She held out for ten days before she began to tell them what she knew.

* * *

Ruth finished early at Cheltenham on the last day of the seminar. It had been two days since she'd heard from Harry, and she was worried, although her body was not as twisted and anxious as it had been two days previously. Whatever her body had been warning her about, it had already happened, and she felt sure that Harry was alright, although since the night before, she'd had a headache which would not go away. She was on the train on her way back to London when she rang Harry's mobile, only to have it go to voicemail. She tried his number three times in fifteen minutes before she gave up, and rang Dimitri.

"Ruth, where are you?" Dimitri said as he picked up the call.

"I'm on the train back to London. I've been trying to ring Harry, but he doesn't pick up. Is anything wrong?"

"Ah," he said, reminding her of how Harry sometimes responded to a difficult question. "I'll meet you at the station. When is your train due in?"

She told him, and he hung up before she'd had a chance to find out what was going on. She had twenty more minutes in which to panic about what may have happened to Harry.

* * *

Dimitri had told Ruth as much as he knew, which hadn't been a whole lot. Neither he nor Tariq knew too many details. All they knew now was that Harry was in hospital, and had been put into a medically induced coma for a few days until doctors were able to assess the extent of his injuries.

"Are you family?" Dr Campbell asked Ruth, not really looking at her. He appeared stressed and overworked, fairly typical for a doctor in the A & E department of an NHS hospital.

"No, but I should be on his list," Ruth said, hoping she could blag her way into Harry's room. After all, blagging hospital staff in order to get to Harry had been one of her acquired skills.

Dr Campbell checked his list, and then said, "Ah, here you are. Ruth Evershed? Sir Harry has listed you as family. I take it you're his wife or partner."

Ignoring Dimitri's embarrassed cough from where he stood behind her, Ruth answered confidently. "I'm his partner ….. or the nearest he has to one."

"Good," the doctor replied. "Come with me, and I'll explain what's going on." Ruth followed Dr Campbell down the corridor, then through double doors into ICU. "He's in here," he said, leading her into a small room with only one bed, in which lay Harry, looking uncharacteristically small and vulnerable.

"Can I touch him?" Ruth asked.

"Yes, of course. He has no awareness, because he's drugged so that he remains unconscious. He was semi-conscious when he was brought in two days ago, but there is a risk of further damage to his brain, due to him being hit rather heavily in the head, so we've knocked him out while that settles down. He should be alright in a few days, a week at most, but it's hard to tell. He's a tough nut, your man."

Ruth smiled at the term, `your man'. She really liked the sound of that. "I know he is," she said, grasping Harry's hand, and trying hard to hold back the tears. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"We-ell …... he has two cracked ribs. I'd say he was kicked pretty hard. There's one other injury. He was kicked in the scrotum, and he's quite bruised and swollen, but he's lucky here doesn't seem to be any permanent damage. Men have lost testicles with injuries similar to his. Your man has steel balls. Sorry, that was my bar room personality talking," he said apologetically, passing a tired hand across his forehead. "He took a beating, and he is in remarkable condition considering what was done to him. He has a powerful will to live. And I've signed the Official Secrets Act, so I know this wasn't just some street fight."

"Can I stay with him?"

"Yes, of course. You're listed as family, so you're free to come and go. I'd suggest you don't spend too much time here in the next day or so. That's because he's on this drip, so he won't be coming out of the coma until we stop the drugs. He'll only be brought around when the brain settles down. That will not be for at least another two days. That's when he'll need you here, because when he comes out of the induced coma, he'll need his loved ones around him."

Ruth wasn't listening. Harry needed her, and if anyone wanted her in the next few days, she'd be where she belonged …... by his side.

* * *

_**A/N: Last chapter up in next day or so.**_


	5. Chapter 5

Ruth stayed. She spent most days with him, and after two weeks, when he was ready to be discharged, she had Dimitri drive them both home to Harry's house.

"You don't need to be doing this," Harry had said as she'd prepared dinner for two on the first night in his house.

"I know," she'd answered, "but I want to." _Someone needs to_, she'd thought, a_nd no-one other than me would put up with you._

She and Harry lived in awkward cohabitation in his house, with her sleeping in the spare room, and he in his own bed. She had taken indefinite leave from work, not sure how long it would be before Harry no longer needed her.  
Harry, on the other hand, had retreated into a private world of his own. Watching him since he'd first emerged from the induced coma was like watching Russian dolls in reverse. She had been so overjoyed to see him wake from his long sleep, but then she watched, feeling helpless, while he began to erect his own invisible walls, and with each layer he added, he drifted further from her.

She'd thought of talking to a doctor, maybe the psych at Thames House, but something stopped her. She preferred to deal with Harry herself, on her own terms, and using her own considerable instincts. Harry was not being difficult or deliberately obstructive; he was just shut down, living in a place where he didn't have to deal with the world around him. He was always pleasant and polite to her, but not fully engaged in the way he had been before she'd left for Cheltenham. Their kiss on the night before she'd left for the seminar seemed like it had happened in another existence – if, in fact, it had happened at all. Ruth was overwhelmed by her own sense of loss, as she watched while he drifted further and further from her, his eyes deadened, no longer filled with love for her. She felt herself beginning to grieve for the relationship she and Harry had been on the verge of having, and for the warm and loving man he'd been before he'd been beaten. She didn't know what to make of it; it wasn't as though this was the first beating he'd ever received, nor was it the worst.

She watched as Harry went through the motions of living, and she went through parallel motions, assisting him. She didn't know what to expect when he was at last well enough to return to work. She'd no sooner begun to think of she and Harry as being a couple than she was having to again consider herself as single, possibly for the rest of time. Having tasted Harry on her lips, and seen for herself the love in his eyes, no other man had even the slightest chance with her.

* * *

The state of things began to change one night ten days after Harry had been released from hospital. He'd been having occasional migraines due to the head injuries he'd received, and the doctor was not prepared to give him the all-clear to return to work until the migraines had ceased. He'd been taking medication for pain, as well as to help him sleep, and Ruth had suggested to him that he gradually take himself off all the medication. Privately, she wondered whether the medication was what was making him so disconnected. Ruth woke one night to hear a noise from Harry's room. She knew that Harry had taken nothing to help him sleep, so at first she thought that perhaps he was just talking to himself because he couldn't sleep. She waited a while, listening for anything else from his room. She had been about to drift off again, when she heard Harry calling for her.

"Harry, what is it?" she asked, entering his room as fast as she could, having not even first put on her bathrobe. She was dressed in pyjamas, and she was still warm from her bed.

Harry was sitting up in bed, his head resting in his hands, and there was a keening sound coming from him, the likes of which she'd only ever heard from injured animals. Ruth quickly got under the duvet, and slid into the bed beside him, and then put her arm around his shoulders, drawing him close to her. In the ten days she'd stayed with him in his house, there had been no physical contact between them, not even a quick peck on the cheek, and she had missed that, and been saddened by it.

Without offering any resistance, Harry turned towards her, and rested his head on her shoulder. The keening sound stopped, but in its place she felt his body begin to tremble. Ruth held him with both her arms around his broad shoulders while he shivered and shuddered. She even thought she could hear his teeth chattering. After the shivering eased, he seemed to relax against her, but then she felt his shoulders shaking, and she realised that he was crying. Ruth had often seen Harry near tears – he was an emotional man – but she had never been witness to anything like this. So that they were both more comfortable, she leaned back against his pillows, taking his head and shoulders with her, and then she pulled the duvet up to cover them. She felt both his arms slip around her waist. They were lying back against the pillows on Harry's side of the bed, their arms around one another, and Harry was crying tears of distress. She found herself running her hand soothingly over his hair, and dropping kisses on his forehead, as she would a distressed child.

They lay that way in the dimness, lit only by the hallway light which Ruth had turned on to find her way, until Harry's tears stopped. As he settled, Harry pulled himself closer to Ruth, and gently kissed her cheek. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Thank you for putting up with me. Thank you for sticking with me."

Ruth didn't reply straight away. She wanted to be sure he'd said everything he needed to. In the three and a half weeks since he'd come out of the induced coma, he'd spoken little. "I won't kid you," she replied at last. "It hasn't been easy being with you these past few weeks. Are you ready to tell me what's been going on?"

The question hung in the air between them, and neither spoke for some time. Eventually, after around five minutes, Harry pulled away slightly, and took a big breath. Ruth could feel him looking at her, but for the time being she didn't want eye contact with him. She'd been shocked and overwhelmed by his emotional outburst, and she wasn't quite ready to face him, although she wanted to give him the freedom to say what had to be said.

"I'm not sure where to begin," he said, "and as you know, I'm not the most forthright of men."

"I'm sure you'll manage, Harry. Just start somewhere – anywhere."

"I think …... I'm almost sure that the pain medication I was taking was affecting me badly. I felt half dead, like I wasn't here. I couldn't _feel_ anything, Ruth. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes, and I agree with you."

"I haven't taken anything for two days, and I woke up about an hour ago, and I felt everything. _Everything_. It was like I had no skin."

"Is your head hurting?"

"Only a little. Just a dull headache, but not so bad. Can you hand me that box of tissues?"

Ruth took the tissue box from the bedside table, and handed it to him, and waited while he blew his nose and wiped his face, and then his hands.

"I ….. I didn't know what was happening. I thought I was having some kind of breakdown. That's why I called for you. I needed you here. I thought I might crack up completely. It was scary."

"Tell me what you felt, Harry."

"I felt scared. Petrified. I was worried I'd die before I had a chance to ….. to live. I was afraid I'd lost any chance of …... of being with …... with you. And after the past few weeks, I wouldn't have blamed you had you simply packed your things and gone home."

"I thought about it a few times," she said quietly.

"When I was lying on that concrete floor with Cynthia and her bodyguard kicking me, I was sure I was going to die. And all I could think of was you, and how much I wanted to live."

Knowing Harry as she did, that was as close to a declaration of love as she was likely to get from him. She watched him, but said nothing, not wanting to interrupt his flow of words.

"I haven't told you what happened with Cynthia. I haven't told anyone, but I'd like to tell you."

"Harry, she's traded her information for being let go, with the proviso she doesn't return to the UK. Six are keeping a close eye on her. Whatever happened between you, the end result was positive. Six have the names of three different contacts she was using in the UK."

"I want to tell you about my own experience with her. About what it was like for me when I …... Ruth, I didn't do anything with her. I couldn't. I couldn't manage to ….."

"You were impotent with her?" _Why does that make me feel so happy?_ She stifled the smile which threatened to break out on her face.

"Yes. I'd never had difficulty with …. with that side of things. Ever. That's one of the reasons I agreed to do it."

"Oh."

"Ruth, a honey trap isn't a romantic tryst. It's not a date. It's work, and it's doesn't compare with having sex with someone you love. You do it, get the information, then walk away."

"Why couldn't you …...?"

"Get it up?"

"Yes," Ruth said, still looking anywhere but at his face.

"I couldn't stand the woman. She was the female version of Oliver Mace. Would you be able to have sex with Oliver Mace?"

"Not unless I was heavily drugged, and preferably in a deep state of unconsciousness."

"Precisely. I kissed her to try to get myself in the mood, but I was repelled by her. The harder I tried, the less it moved. I've never had that problem before, even when I've been drunk."

"How much drunken sex have you had, Harry?"

"Quite a lot, I'm ashamed to say."

"You're not a young man any more. You have to expect some things to change with age."

"Thanks for that, Ruth," he said, an edge of sarcasm in his voice.

That was when she looked at him, and found him gazing at her, one eyebrow lifted. Harry was back. Her Harry was no longer the depressed and shut-down man he'd been for so many weeks. For that, she was grateful.

"She – Cynthia – kicked me in the balls because I couldn't perform. I found that to be a trifle harsh. It bloody hurt, too."

"Harry …..."

"Yes?"

"Is some of what you're feeling to do with aging, and feeling ashamed that you didn't carry off that operation with all the pizzaz of your 30-year-old self?"

"Sometimes I think you can see right into my very soul, Ruth. I'm having to rethink everything I thought I was, and everything I thought I was still capable of. The truth is, I'm no longer the spy I used to be."

"But you bring so much else to the job that a younger man can't. You're a leader, Harry, and you radiate gravitas. Others look up to you, and value your counsel. You're a mentor for the younger ones. So few are even capable of that."

"Thank you, Ruth. What would I do without you?" His voice was soft and mellow, the voice she loved more than any other.

Finding words inadequate, Ruth reached her hand to his face, and drew him closer to her. When their lips met it was gentle and very sweet, soft and satisfying. When they pulled away from the kiss, they each saw in the other the love they'd witnessed when last they'd kissed almost four weeks earlier.

Harry put his finger under her chin, and again kissed her, his lips soft and inviting, his touch warm and delicate. Ruth almost shivered when his thumb lightly caressed her neck and down to her throat. This kiss was not a prelude to physical intimacy. It was a prelude to something much, much more. "Let's go to sleep," he said, as he drew his face away from hers, holding her eyes in a loving gaze. "I'm knackered."

Ruth had spent the previous ten nights sleeping in the spare room down the hall from Harry's room. On this night, she allowed Harry to wrap his arms around her, while she tucked her own arm around his waist, and they slept the rest of the night together, in his bed.

* * *

When Ruth awoke next morning the bed beside her was empty, so she showered and dressed, and then followed the smell of sausages, bacon and eggs. She entered the kitchen to see Harry busily cooking, something he'd not done since he'd been home from hospital. He was altogether a different man. He was not even the old Harry, because there was an enthusiasm and an energy that she'd not seen in him for some time, perhaps since before she'd gone into exile.

"Sit down, Ruth," he said when he saw her. "It's my turn to look after you."

"At this rate you'll be ready to go back to work next week," she said, tucking in to her sausages.

"Ah," he said, taking the chair opposite her. "I have something to tell you. This is something I've been thinking about for months now, but I think the timing is right for it now. I'm thinking of taking leave …... perhaps for as long as six months to a year. I need to get out of London for a time, because – I hate to use this phrase, but it's the best I can think of – I need to find myself. I want to reconnect with the Harry who isn't section head of section D. I'm sure there's more to me than what I do for a living."

"That's wonderful, Harry," Ruth said, trying to sound enthusiastic for him, when all she felt was distress, and a sense of imminent loss. She was struck by the irony of her having helped nurse Harry back to health, just so that he could be well enough to leave her.

"I thought we could go somewhere near the sea …... north, south, it doesn't matter much. I'd like to fish, sit in a boat, and you could read all the books you've never had time to read."

"_Me_? You want me to go with you?"

"I wasn't planning on going alone, Ruth, and I have no intention of going anywhere without you. I thought you'd know that."

"No, Harry, I didn't. You hadn't asked me …... and if you remember, during these past few weeks we've barely been talking."

"Yes, I know. We have some catching up to do. What do you say?"

"I think I'd like that." Ruth smiled across the table at him, barely able to speak. "What about the Home Office? It might be inconvenient were both the section head and the senior intelligence analyst in Section D to be off-Grid for months at a time."

"Do you know what I say to that, Ruth?"

"Bugger the Home Office?"

"Correct."

* * *

_3 months later – Morecambe Bay, Lancashire:_

"What are you doing?" he asked, standing in the front doorway watching her.

"I'm …... I'm thinking," she said, her face colouring with the memory.

"You're thinking about us, aren't you? You're thinking about that …. first time. I can tell. You get that faraway look in your eyes."

She looked across at him and nodded. "I think I might still be re-living it on my deathbed."

"That good, huh?"

"You know it was, and I seem to remember I wasn't alone at the time."

"I'll never be able to look at my kitchen floor the same way again. And my back may never recover."

"Or your knees."

"My knees …...God! I thought I'd never walk again."

"I happen to prefer it when we make love in a bed, but that first time was …..."

"Toe-curling? Scintillating? Unforgettable?"

"All of the above, but mostly …..."

"Bloody uncomfortable." Harry finished the sentence for her.

They laughed together, remembering Harry's fingers pressing into his back when he'd stood up afterwards, and how, had it not been for the extreme lateness of the hour, her massaging his back muscles would have led to round two. They looked at one another across the room, and the look they exchanged was one of love rather than lust. They remembered that whilst they had frequently been driven by lust, the underlying love was what remained after the lust had run its natural course.

"Come out here and join me," he said, deliberately breaking the mood. "The sunset is beautiful."

So she put down the book she'd been attempting to read, and joined him on the front deck of the beach house they'd rented on a short-term lease. When he felt her beside him, he slid his arm around her, pulling her close to his side.

"It's really cold out here, Harry."

"I know it is, but this is a sight we'd never see from inside Thames House. Sunset over Morecambe Bay."

"It's magnificent," she said. "The sky is so red. It'll be raining tomorrow."

"I think you'll find that `Red sky at night, shepherd's delight', means that tomorrow will be fine."

"But don't shepherds prefer it if it rains?"

"Imagine being outside with your sheep when it's pissing down? Hardly delightful, is it? Think of all that wet wool."

"I was thinking that when it rains, the shepherd can put his sheep in the barn, and sit inside in front of the fire with a cup of cocoa and a copy of the _"Shepherding Times"_. That would be delightful."

"But sitting inside is hardly shepherding, Ruth. Shepherding is an outdoor job."

"Oh," she said, disappointment in her tone. "So we can't spend all day tomorrow in bed?"

"Why not?"

"Because it won't be raining."

"I don't think there are rules about these things, Ruth. There's no protocol surrounding when one gets to spend the day in bed. If you want to spend tomorrow in bed, then that's fine with me."

"Only if you're there with me, Harry."

"Try keeping me away." He reached down and kissed her, taking his time. "Are you happy?" he asked after a while, closely watching her face.

"Ridiculously," she replied, reaching up to kiss him again.

_Fin_

_._

___**A/N: Thanks to all who have read and reviewed. **_

___**Next up, a two-shot called "Q & A".**_


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